Warnings: The people have spoken!! Thank you so very much to everyone who read or gave a little love to my first fic ever!!!!!! You guys are so nice, and I am so happy to share more of this story, a nsfw happy ending, as per requested, I am the queen of run-on sentences, look I wrote this in like 3 hours after the poll ended and then I needed to sleep but I'm back babey, ok I have to split this into 3 total parts bc I need to go to work, but it's almost done!! Whumpy, anxious reader, kissing, no smut yet, dw it is forthcoming, uhhhh, serious simon, yeah party rock guys
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A continuation of this:
💬 5 🔁 2 ❤️ 52 · Warnings: gn reader, whumpy, angsty pants reader, anxious reader, touch-starved reader, implied past sexual assault, impli
You can't seem to make yourself move from where he's placed you, you can't seem to stop the tears, you can't seem to do anything.
It doesn't matter. He keeps one of his hands running up and down your back, soothing despite the Gordian Knot of your emotions about this, about him. His other hand moves to wipe the tears, even as more slide from your eyes to replace them.
This is pure cruelty, you think. To hurt you, to soften you, to utterly ruin you like he doesn't care. Why is he doing this to you?
He doesn't keep his hand on your cheek, though. Your wet eyes don't obstruct your view of him slowly moving his hand closer to his own face. He takes the fingers that are wet from wiping your face and puts them to his mouth, tasting the salt from them.
You tasted your tears when he kissed you, and here he is, tasting them again as you watch. Your tears keep falling, but you're not whining now. You are utterly silent.
He watches you watch him, as he does this. He doesn't smile, he doesn't make a joke out of what he's doing. The hand that was moving on your back comes to your jaw, your face, and his other hand, now clean of your tears comes to join it on the opposite side.
He moves his face close to yours again, and you feel the heat, the wet, the salt of his breath on your cheeks yet again.
He doesn't stop moving, and the next thing you feel is not his breath, but the warm heat of his tongue, tracing up your left cheek, tasting your tear tracks as he moves. He turns to your right side and repeats the process, leaving a stripe of warmth where his tongue had been.
He looks at you once he has tasted all the tears on your cheeks, and you are surprised to find your vision clear, no more tears welling as you meet his eyes.
He does not smile, he does not laugh, he does not exhale shortly from his nose as he says to you "Tol' ya to stop cryin."'
He seems to expect you to answer this statement, to acknowledge it in some way, so you give a short nod. You remain silent and still. There is still nowhere for you to go, nothing for you to do.
You're so aware of your body again, you feel the pressure of him under you, and the weight of your arms around him, but more than that, you are aware that he put you here. He placed your arms around his back, the weight of you on him.
"'re ya gon' be good f' me now, luv?" He is all seriousness, holding your face and looking into your eyes.
Your voice still evades you. You nod again.
"Good." Is all he says. He takes your arms from where he put them around himself and moves them to his chest. You don't know what to do with this, you don't know why he's doing this, what any of this means.
He is cruel and uncaring and he is moving towards your face again, this time touching his lips to your eyelids, which flutter closed at the soft press of him. First the left eyelid, then the right, he mouths at where your tears have sprung from as he did your tears themselves.
You think you're trembling, now. No, you must be, for your hands were so still and unmoving on his chest a moment ago.
He finishes with his kisses and moves to stare back into your eyes again. His eyes are so deep, you think. This is part of why you are different with him, for him. His eyes hold you, he looks at you and you are sure that he really sees you.
You have to know, you have to do something. You're not someone who sits back and just lets life happen to you, you are an active participant. So you steel yourself.
"Why?" It's one word, but it's out there now, sitting weighty in the space between you.
"Why wot?" He still doesn't laugh, he doesn't do anything to suggest that he's not taking this seriously.
"Why are you doing this?" You can't think of a better way to put the sentence, you're all wrought emotion at this point.
"Doin' this? Y'mean luvin' at ya? I wan' ya, why else?" He says it like you're crazy for thinking anything else.
You still don't have anything elegant to say, especially not to that.
"You do?" You're unsure, hesitant even as you sit on his lap, your face in his hands and your tears pooling in his belly.
"'f course." He says it with finality, he is done with this line of conversation. You don't think you are, but it's Simon. So you are.
With the talking out of the way, he seems to move on to more important things. He's crowding into your space again, and he's come back for another kiss.
He's still gentle, a tender press to your lips, and once again, you taste salt mixed with his warm flesh. You decide you aren't bothered.
Denying is all you seem to do to yourself, you resent his reckless abandon when it comes to this joy, this pleasure. He knows.
He makes a study of you, between kisses. The way you intake your breath, the tracking of your eyes. His reckless abandon is not carelessness.
And so it goes. You dance around each other, one unrestrained, one watching the other's struggle for self-mastery. You hate him, just a little bit for his ease in it. He knows this too.
It's honestly frightening. How well he knows you, how little effort it takes for him to.
He breathes into your mouth, he traces the lines of your teeth like he wants to learn all of you, just like he has your tears, with his tongue. His hands are moving again, coming to the bulk of your shoulder, separating the scrunch you've gotten in your neck from your ears.
He is taking from you and taking from you and taking care of you with each brush of his nose against yours. You're starting to run a little short of breath, and he notices. Of course he does.
He moves to kiss the base of your ear, the space next to it, he kisses down your neck, to your nape, he kisses the top of your vertebrae while his hands move to slip slightly under your shirt, to begin tracing the warm, soft skin of your stomach.
Is he moving too fast? Is this really what he wants? You are thinking too much again and he must be able to tell by the pace of your breathing or something because he moves his lips back to yours and kisses you with a renewed fervor.
The thoughts are dissipating a bit, but they're never far from your mind. You still haven't moved your hands, and that suddenly begins to bother you. You let your fingers dig into his chest where he put them, let your fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt. Are you doing this right?
You don't wonder for long. He lets out a low sound as you dig your fingers in again, a bit of your nails digging into him as you do.
He's kissing you harder now, like he's trying to communicate that it's okay, that he wants you to want this. How could he not know about your want of this? It's an insane game of charades you two play with your lips and with your bodies, but you try to start to believe that you're awake and that this is truly happening.
Simon, Simon, Simon. You're desperately trying to replace all your thoughts, all the insecurities plaguing you with him, this, the feeling, the sounds he's making.
You might hate the thought of it after, might need to burn out the ugly part of you that wants and needs, but you have to tell him, he has to know.
"Si- Simon." You get his name out between the heated kisses he's giving you, and he goes entirely still under you at the sound of your voice again.
He starts to pull back so he can look into your face, and you are suddenly terrified at the loss of him, no matter how you might've predicted it. You grab at his arms, try to bring them back around your waist, you shove your face into his neck and try to will him to understand how badly you need this, how badly you need him.
"Don't go, Si." He stops moving away from you at this. "I want you so badly, Simon, please." He turns tender, he encircles your waist like you tried to get him to and he presses his forehead to yours.
"Yea? Wot d'ya want?" He's rubbing it in, doesn't he understand how much it took for you to say what you wanted? You give a huff of frustration into his face, but he doesn't mind.
"You, Simon." You're so unbearably embarrassed at this point, you're beyond almost all of your cares.
There's a smile in his voice as he pulls you from touching your foreheads together.
"Good. I wan' ya too."
